THE ATHLETE
In gym class, when captains select teammates
for a game of basketball, I get picked first,
maybe for being lanky or for having darker skin.
I guess it seems like a good idea to them, until
I take a shot that goes over the backboard.
I get picked last for basketball after that.
During reading time when Mrs. Vandenberg says
we each have to read a chapter of
The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963,
everyone groans when it’s my turn,
until the words gush out of my mouth,
smooth and fast like the River Jordan.
By the time I’m done, smiles spread
across each classmate’s face.
I now get selected to read first every time.
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